


Normal

by Whitefox



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Coda, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitefox/pseuds/Whitefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harvey gets home after dealing with Logan Sanders, it’s to the sounds of <i>Fight Club</i> emanating from the living room and an unfamiliar suitcase slouching in the front hall.</p><p>(Extended coda to 4x07.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little, overly optimistic coda to 4x07, "We're Done", because despite the ominous title of that episode, it made me happy. This was punched out in a few hours after watching the show, so it's not a work of art or anything...but it amused me. :)

 

When Harvey gets home after dealing with Logan Sanders, it’s to the sounds of _Fight Club_ emanating from the living room and an unfamiliar suitcase slouching in the front hall. 

“You know,” he says, setting his own briefcase down alongside it and shrugging carefully out of his jacket, “staying the night is one thing, but I don’t recall inviting you to move in.”

“Welcome home, _dear_ ,” Mike calls from the living room.   “How was your errand?  Mine was shit, in case you were wondering.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter as he starts to settle in.  He can see Mike now, sprawled on his couch in a plain t-shirt and jeans, a can of beer cradled in one hand.  The sight is weirdly jarring, as if the pothead dropout from years ago has been transplanted into his living room.  “I think I made my point.  Don’t come into the office until after 8 tomorrow, alright?”

Mike rouses himself enough to poke his head over the back of the couch.  “Why?”

“Logan Sanders will be gone by then.”  Harvey doesn’t hang around to watch Mike’s reaction to that, instead continuing on into his bedroom to change into something that won’t get creased and wrinkled just from being looked at the wrong way.  Mike doesn’t say anything else until Harvey’s back in the kitchen to pour himself a drink, now clad in a soft grey cashmere sweater and comfortable jeans.

“I went home, like you suggested,” Mike offers.

“And then you came back,” Harvey points out.  “Maybe it wasn't explicit, but I thought ‘and don’t come back’ was pretty heavily implied.”

Mike shrugs.  “I told her I’m coming back to work tomorrow.  If she can’t deal with that then the rest doesn’t matter anyway.”

Harvey lets that go.  He’s already interfered with that relationship more than he wanted to, and that against his better judgement.  He’s said his piece and it was even true, but that doesn’t mean that in Mike’s shoes he wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing, if not to a greater extreme.  The kid was betrayed, and while Harvey might admire the ability to forgive and forget, he’s not fool enough to recommend it.

Whiskey in hand, he shoves Mike’s feet aside to make room on the couch.  Mike grumbles but makes way easily enough, curling up tighter on his end without managing to sit up any straighter.  On the screen, Tyler Durden is beating up a kid who dreams of being a veterinarian.

Harvey gestures at the movie.  “This a metaphor for something?”

“I am not my job,” Mike intones. 

Harvey snorts.  “At least you have one, ingrate.   I can’t believe you were going to work for _Forstman_.”

“He did offer me a million dollars.”

“If that’s a not-so-subtle way of getting me to increase your salary, it’s not going to work.  You’ll be lucky if Jessica spares a dollar for your signing bonus.  Excuse me, _re-_ signing bonus.”

“I am not how much money I have in the bank,” Mike quotes, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Gotta say, taking life advice from _Fight Club_?  Not the smartest decision you’ve made.”

“But not the dumbest either.”

Harvey grins and sips his whiskey.  “You have a point there.”

He’s missed this, is the thing.  He hadn’t realized until now quite how much.  Things have been crazy for so long, the brief snatches of time he’s spent with Mike filled with tension and arguments and suspicion.  Going up against his protégé was challenging and thrilling, but Harvey had never wanted the bitter duel to the death that it became, had never wanted Mike to think of him as an _enemy_ , not even for a second.  Now, sitting in the comfort of his own living room and being able to banter easily without having to watch for tricks or traps or veiled threats, it feels like an open wound is finally starting to close.  Harvey is breathing easier than he has in months.

They keep up a steady stream of commentary throughout the movie, but as the climax approaches, Harvey finds himself flagging.  It hasn’t been a particularly long day, but he supposes it’s everything else – finishing the case with Gillis Industries, getting rid of Logan Sanders, deadlocking the SEC investigation, Mike coming home.  The storm has passed, finally, and his body knows it’s time to rest.

“Hey,” Mike says into the lull, quiet and soft like he doesn’t want to draw too much attention.  “Thanks for…you know.  Putting up with me.  I know I haven’t…it’s been tough.”

Harvey doesn’t look over.  He doesn’t think he’s done much worth thanks, all considered.  “I was much worse when I was starting out, trust me.  You’ve got a lot more bullshit to pull before I get to start holding it against you.”

“That I believe,” Mike says, and Harvey knows without looking that he’s grinning.  “Still.  You’re a good friend, Harvey.  Probably the best I’ve had.”

Harvey doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods.  He’s initiated more emotional conversations in the last few months than he has in the last few years – possibly more than the last _decade_ , considering most of that time was before he met Mike – but that doesn’t mean he’s good at it, or has any idea what he’s doing.  Now that things were calming down, he had hoped for fewer emotions everywhere, not more.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow, I promise,” Mike continues.  “I was going to check into a hotel tonight, that’s what the suitcase is for, but after everything…”

Harvey lets that hang, considering.  He watches the movie for a few minutes, even though he’s seen it too many times for it to really grab him.  He thinks about the way it felt coming home to light and noise and cheap beer in his fridge. 

His condo is his home, but he’s never spent much time there.  It’s a showpiece, all stainless steel and black leather and crystal-clear glass, an eagle’s perch from which to oversee his vast domain.  It’s his retreat, sometimes, but it’s as much a part of his image as everything else: a sharp black and white snapshot of elite luxury and elegance.  The few guests he has and the occasional woman he brings home only enhance that image further: sharp suits and designer dresses, perfectly coiffed hair and prohibitively expensive perfume. 

Mike…is something else.  He’s scruffy and still hopelessly without taste, he leaves raggedy running shoes on the floor and coffee cup rings on the counter, and he acts like he belongs when all evidence points to the contrary.  But he gives the room a glow.  He makes the condo feel lived in.  And to his surprise, Harvey finds he likes it.  A lot.  Maybe he’s grown out of the need to prove so much all the time, he doesn’t know, but the idea of sharing close quarters with Mike for an extended period doesn’t sound so bad.  The place has started to feel a bit too large and open for one person anyway, since Scottie left.

“Don’t bother,” he tells Mike.  “About the hotel.  No point wasting money on a room for who knows how long.  You can stay here.”

“…You sure?”  This time Harvey does look over, and finds Mike regarding him with narrow-eyed disbelief.  Harvey meets the look with as much nonchalance as he can muster, sagging with exhaustion as he is.  “It could be a while, I don’t—”

Harvey shakes his head.  “It’s fine.  Stay.”

“But—”

“Tell you what,” Harvey interrupts, again.  “Take my clothes with you when you go to the cleaners and promise to clean up your own damn paperwork, and we’ll call it even.  Donna’s not here to do it for you.”

“Donna’s never cleaned up my paperwork.”

“She bullies the associates into doing it.  Same thing.”

Mike grins a little at that but his eyes are wide.  Harvey is surprising even himself at his own insistence, but he doesn't let it phase him.  He’s grown used to acting unpredictably around Mike.  Doesn't mean it’s a bad idea.

“You’re sure,” Mike repeats.  It’s no longer a question.

Harvey musters a glare.  “Careful.  You’re getting dangerously close to sounding ungrateful.”

Mike doesn’t visibly react to the threat, just keeps watching him.  Harvey mourns the loss of his ability to intimidate the kid.  If he’d ever really had it at all. 

“Okay,” Mike says after a long moment.  He still looks wary.  “But you’ll tell me, right?  If I get to be a nuisance?”

“When have I ever had a problem telling you you’re a nuisance?  Now shut up and let me watch the end of the movie.”  Harvey feels Mike’s eyes on him for a moment longer, but he doesn’t say anything else.  Harvey accepts that as the victory it is and turns his attention back to the screen.

Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.  And if Harvey just keeps telling himself that, by morning he might even believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I wasn’t done, so have some more self-indulgent speculative fic! This is going to get so very jossed so very soon, but it seems I no longer care. I don’t even know, you guys. Hopefully someone enjoys this.
> 
> Warning: a bit more slashy this time, but only right at the end.

~*~

 

Waking up in Harvey’s condo, Mike thinks, will never not be surreal.  Trash talk about thread counts notwithstanding, the sheets in the guest room are of a higher quality and more pristine than anything he’s ever owned.  Mike might feel well off now, relatively speaking, but Harvey?  Harvey has more money than God.

If God had money.  Mike doesn’t see why he would.  Maybe the Pope.  More money than the Pope?

Mike drags a hand over his face wearily.  His head hurts, but he’s pretty sure that has more to do with the brawl he had with Logan Sanders a few nights ago than anything fun like excessive alcohol consumption.  His lip still feels tender.

The clock on the bedside table is fancy and analogue, gold filigreed hands encased in a pearlescent shell.  He has to squint at it for a few seconds before he can make any sense of the symbols. 

Six AM.  Harvey had said he should stay out of office until after eight, which is a whole two hours away.  His body is telling him that it could really use those two hours to sleep.  But Mike can hear sounds from the kitchen and can almost smell Harvey’s epic artisanal coffee brewing, so he drags himself out of the frighteningly comfortable guest bed.  He’s used to crazier mornings with Rachel, anyway.

… _Was_ used to.

Mike had slept in and missed Harvey completely yesterday, so the sight that greets him in the kitchen is new to him.  Harvey is hunched over the kitchen island, a newspaper spread out in front of him and a very large cup of coffee at his elbow.  He’s half dressed in slacks and a shirt, but the sleeves are unbuttoned and probably the collar too.  His hair is still wet.

Even after all this time, seeing evidence of Harvey’s ordinary humanity weirds Mike out.  This is Harvey at his most relaxed and unguarded, taking a moment to enjoy the safety and quiet of his home before builds his walls back up to become the high-powered lawyer everyone else sees.  Mike hesitates.  He doesn’t want to intrude, or to see what changes when he does.

“Coffee’s still hot, I made extra,” Harvey says abruptly, waving toward the sink where Mike notices a second eggshell-white mug waiting.  “If you’re hungry, there’s eggs in the fridge but you can damn well make those yourself.”

Harvey doesn’t look any less relaxed now that he’s obviously noticed Mike, and Mike grins.  He shuffles over to the counter and fills the giant mug up to the brim.  The coffee smells incredible.  “I’m not much of a breakfast person, to be honest.”

“Good.”

Mike spots the sugar pot easily, which is surprising – as far as he knows Harvey always takes his coffee black, and he _would_ know.  “Do you have cream?”

“Do you have eyes?  In the fridge, where else would it be?”

Mike rolls his eyes but locates a droopy carton of half and half tucked behind some mysterious Tupperware containers.  “Good to see you’re not any less pleasant _before_ you get to work in the morning.”

“And you’re no less of an idiot.  What a surprise.”

Mike grins behind his mug.  Despite the unusual setting and Harvey’s apparently awful mood, the banter is as familiar and easy as breathing.  It makes him feel like there’s a chance everything will actually be okay, that they can go back to normal without any traumatic consequences.  It’s a foolish hope, probably, but Mike doesn’t much care.  He and Harvey, they’re solid.  They can take whatever might come.

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence as Mike enjoys the warm bloom of caffeine settling into his veins.  He’ll never be as neurotic as Harvey about coffee preparation, but he can definitely appreciate the results.  “This is amazing.”

“I know,” is all Harvey says, of course.  He glances at his watch and folds up his paper with a snap.  “I need to get changed.  Should I send Ray back for you after my meeting’s over?”

Mike blinks.  “Uh, sure.  Thanks.”  Then, for the first time since Louis made the unexpected offer, he gives some thought to how his day is going to go.  He draws an alarming amount of blanks.  “Wait—where am I supposed to go when I get there?  Am I back in the bullpen?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harvey says, but gives no explanation as to why that thought was stupid.  “Just come see me.  We’ll work it out.”

There’s more questions Mike suddenly wants to ask, chief among them being _Am I working for Louis now?,_ but he knows they can wait.  Probably.  “See you at work, then.”

For some reason Harvey smiles at that, an actual genuine _smile_ that crinkles his eyes at the corners.  Mike can’t help but stare.  It’s probably for the best that Harvey’s focused on buttoning his cuffs at the moment.

“See you at work,” Harvey echoes, and then he leaves Mike alone in the kitchen with his giant mug of awesome coffee. 

Mike takes another sip and tries not to think about Rachel.

 

*

 

Mike gets in at eight-thirty almost exactly, which is scandalously late in the day for an associate.  Years of conditioning are still too strong for him to not feel at least a little awkward about that, but he figures he can pin it on Harvey easily enough if anyone asks.

No one does.  He’s given an office – an actual _office_ , with windows and everything – that has the erratically dusted feel of recent evacuation.  Mike spins in the desk chair while Harvey smirks at him from the door, looking as smug as Mike’s ever seen him.  Mike wonders who he had to kick out to make sure this office was free, and decides he’s better off not knowing.

There’s no name on the door, not yet, but Harvey assures him the contractors will fix that soon. 

“And Jessica’s okay with this,” Mike checks, for the third time.  The answers to his first two tries had been less than reassuring.

This time is no different.  “Don’t worry about it,” Harvey says easily.  He wanders over to the empty shelving and runs a hand along the smooth lacquered wood.  “You’ll have to start a baseball collection.”

“Or not,” Mike suggests.  “Harvey, the last time I had an office Jessica took it away after a _day_.  I’d really like to know if I get to keep this one.”

“Jessica didn’t take it away, you gave it up,” Harvey points out, which is true but immaterial as far as Mike is concerned.  Lawyers.  “Just don’t give this one away to the first person who gives you puppy eyes, and it’ll be fine.”

Mike narrows his eyes, suddenly a lot more concerned about his office’s previous occupant.  “Harvey—”

“Mike.”  Harvey sighs.  “We’re not putting you in the bullpen, that’s ridiculous.”

It’s not like Mike _wants_ to go back to his little cubicle, but…  “Why?  Why’s that so ridiculous?  I’m still just an associate.”

“Officially, sure.  But that’s only because Jessica hates you.”

“…Wow, thanks Harvey.  I feel loads better now.”

Harvey rolls his eyes.  “Like you didn’t know that already.  Mike, if you were anyone else you would have made partner a long time ago.  And in case you hadn’t noticed, Jessica’s name isn’t the only one on the wall anymore.  You’re keeping the damn office.”

Mike feels something warm bloom in his chest, and looks down quickly in case his eyes decide to do something embarrassing – it _has_ been a long couple of days.  There’s a little triangular nameplate sitting on the desk already, but it’s crooked so that even from his angel Mike can make out _Ross_ embossed in black letters on a dull gold background _._ He reaches out with a gentle hand to adjust it so it can properly greet visitors to the office.  _His_ office.

“Thanks, Harvey,” he manages eventually, when he’s more confident of his voice.

“Yeah, whatever.  It was this or have you take over mine again, and Donna complains enough about the clutter as is.”  Harvey swings away, rapping his knuckles on the desk as he heads toward the door.  “Come see me later if you’re up for some real work.”

Mike just waves half-heartedly as he leaves.  He doesn’t think he’ll be in any shape for _real_ work for a while, but he’s sure that’s not what Harvey really meant, anyway.  Harvey Specter is a big believer in avoiding your problems by keeping busy.

And hey, why not?  It’s worked so far.

 

*

 

Mike gets his first visitor about two hours later, by which point he’s already made eight trips to the copy room, three to storage downstairs, and eleven calls and one personal visit to IT.  Most people seem pleased to see him back, if a little confused, but they’re so star-struck by Harvey still that they don’t question him too much.  His office is slowly starting to feel less barren and more useable.  He’s even got a small plant in the corner, which Donna had handed over to him far too furtively for it to be anything other than stolen.  He doesn’t mind; it’s Donna, so he’s sure whoever it was deserved to lose their plant, probably due to neglect.  The poor thing does seem droopy.

He’s been paranoid about running into Rachel all morning and has been psyching himself up for what to say when he inevitably does, so when hears the knock on his door he nearly launches into his entire speech unprompted.

He manages to catch himself just in time, which is extremely fortunate, considering.

“Mike.”

“Louis.”

Silence reigns for an uncomfortably long moment, Louis’s beady eyes fixed on his.  It’s awkward and strange and Mike’s social skills urge him to break the eye contact or say something to ease the tension, but he knows better than that by now.  He holds his eyes steady and doesn’t fidget, shows no signs of weakness.  Louis breaks first.

“I want you to know that the way you exploited my love for Sheila was a hurtful betrayal of the friendship I thought we had,” he spits out, like the words are bullets that will shatter Mike’s spine if he can say them fast enough.  “I can never trust you the same way again.”

“O…kay.”  Mike watches warily as Louis begins to pace, hands twitching at his sides.  The man’s always so jumpy, like a bucktoothed cat with fleas, twitching its fur at each new bite.

“What you did was cruel and heartless and I still can’t believe you, Mike.”  He whirls on Mike now, both hands flat on his desk and teeth bared in a weird, rodent-like snarl.  “You’re a bloodsucking turncoat and I will cherish the look on your face when I beat you until my dying day.”

Mike does his best not to shy away, not even to get out of spitting range.  “Louis.  I get it.  I’m sorry.”

“But after many hours considering the meaning of life in my 100% hand sewn spider silk pajamas while I imagined how it would feel to crush you into the ground like the ant you are—“

“Come on, Louis—”

“— in that dark night of the soul, I realized something.  The love that Sheila and I share is too special and pure to toss aside like yesterday’s news.  Most people live their whole lives and never get to experience a love that perfect and fulfilling – people like you, Mike.  So I am going to go back to Sheila, I am going to do that thing she loves with my tongue, and we are going to make it work.”

Well, that’s a mental image he did not need.  And Louis is still far too close to his face.  “That’s…that’s great, Louis.  Why—?”

“Am I telling you this?  I’ll tell you why, Mike.”  To Mike’s vast relief he finally seems to calm down and pushes off from the desk.  “Because I am the better man.  That’s right.  You heard me.  And Dr. Parkman says honesty is the first step towards reconciliation.”

Mike is too busy cherishing his restored personal space to really follow this.  “Dr. Parkman?”

Louis puffs up visibly, and Mike knows right away that he shouldn’t have asked. 

“Dr. Parkman is a world-renowned therapist who has recently deigned to take on my humble self as a new client.  His work on the five key steps of chakra healing was transformative.  Workshops every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Uh, thanks Louis, but I think I’m good.”

“Don’t be too sure, Mike.”  Louis’s whole face has opened up with earnestness, like a naked mole rat exposed to the sun for the first time.  “Disease actualizes first in the subtle bodies and we must acknowledge and resolve it there before it spreads to our physical selves.  Your root chakra could be out of balance and you wouldn’t know until it manifested into a stomach ulcer.”

Too weird.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  You were saying something about reconciliation?”

Louis’s face closes down so hard that Mike almost feels guilty.  “Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong, Mike.  Do you know who said that?  Don’t answer that, of course you don’t.  We’re going mudding.”

"Oh,” Mike says.

On the one hand, regaining Louis’s trust and quasi-friendship would make his job significantly less painful and paranoia inducing, which sounds like a fantastic idea to Mike right now.  Louis as an enemy is harmless and pathetic ninety-nine percent of the time, but that last one percent can be a doozy.  The strange little man is frustratingly good at attacking when you least expect it, or are conveniently distracted with other Very Important things.  Not to mention the fact that, depressing and convoluted as it is, Mike _does_ owe him.

So on the one hand, one less person in Pearson-Specter who doesn’t outright hate him, and a reduced chance of finding a puddle of urine in his shiny, lightly-used office one morning. 

On the other hand, mudding with Louis. 

Harvey would never let him live it down.

With a small, long-suffering sigh Mike gives up his dream of a quiet lunch with Donna and resigns himself to some grade A, take-no-prisoners mocking when he gets back to the condo. 

“Lead the way, Louis.”

 

*

 

Mike spends the rest of the afternoon holed up in Harvey’s office trying his best not to think about how his pores feel wonderfully fresh and cleansed.  The location is mostly an attempt to avoid the man himself and delay the inevitable mocking (a surprisingly effective strategy if one knows his schedule of meetings, which Mike does after bribing Donna with a grande soy caramel macchiato), but Donna is also an effective gatekeeper against various other ne’er-do-wells.  Mike’s learned his lesson about staying in a single, predictable place where he can be trapped, and he won’t soon forget it.  This mudding was almost worse than the first time, in that Louis was even more eager to talk about personal matters in great detail now that they were so 'close'.  Mike now knows far more intimate details about Louis and Sheila’s relationship than he ever wanted to, and can only pray to whatever god might take pity on him that Louis doesn’t try to make it a regular thing.

The case Harvey’s left for him is a straightforward pro bono, which Mike is grateful for despite knowing that Harvey would’ve been only too happy to pawn it off on him no matter the situation.  Right now it’s exactly what he needs.  He plods through the basic first steps of building a defense and lets the feeling of solid work for a good cause sink into his bones and steady him.

He’s missed this.  So, so much.  Now that he’s back, he’s not sure why he ever thought he could survive without it.

“He’s not in there,” Donna calls to the newest seeker of Harvey, a warning both to them and to Mike.  The passivity of this is alarming in itself, considering Mike’s been careful to position himself out of casual sight and that Donna hasn’t hesitated to get bodily in the way of other intruders.  His heart jumps into his throat when he hears the footsteps continue past Donna’s desk, only to pause just inside the door.

“He never lets me work in here,” says Rachel. 

Her voice is as soft and beautiful as the first snow of the year.  Mike closes his eyes.  “He’s never tried to fire you, either.  I think you got the better deal.”

“You can't even look at me?”

Mike takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.  She looks as perfect as always.  Her eyes are only a little red, but the wrecked expression on her face breaks his heart anew.

“Can we talk?  Please?”

“…Do we have to do this today?”

Rachel blinks rapidly, swallows.  Mike wonders if she’s swallowing down the things she really wants to say, wonders if they cut like knives going down.  “I’m sorry but…you dropped a bombshell on me yesterday and didn’t give me a chance to respond.  There’s a few things I need to say.”

Mike would honestly rather immerse himself in a pit of poisonous vipers or even, God forbid, go _mudding_ again rather than have this conversation, but the rational part of his mind is more functional today and he knows it’s only fair.  Harvey's office is as good a place as any: even if Donna’s not listening she won’t let anyone intrude, and Mike even has the home field advantage, somewhat.  “Fine.  Let’s get it over with, then.”

Rachel briefly looks like she’s tasted something unexpectedly bitter, but she covers it up quickly.  With a look on her face like she’s walking into a war zone, she marches over to Mike and settles on the couch beside him.  Her body is angled towards his and she’s close enough that Mike can smell her perfume - lavender and lilies, painfully familiar - but far enough to be just out of reach.  She takes a deep breath, and Mike determinedly doesn’t watch her chest rise and fall.

“Louis told me about what happened with Forstman.  What you almost did.”

Mike glances over to her, briefly thrown.  “He did?”

“I need to know, Mike.  Was that because of me?  Because I…”  Her voice catches, like a bit of silk on a rusty nail.  “Because I betrayed you?”

And it is, of course, which is why Mike can’t admit to it.  He knows he has a bad habit of making major decisions rashly when people he cares about have hurt him, but his anger at Rachel is already fading.  He looks at her red-rimmed eyes and he knows she’s suffered enough.  He doesn’t want her to blame herself for something that didn’t even happen.

Unfortunately, Rachel knows him well enough that his silence speaks for itself.  “That’s what I thought,” she says, and something crystalline hardens in her eyes.  “And now we’re both back here, right where we started.”

“It’s where I belong.”  And this is true, Mike now knows, can feel it in the steady way his heart keeps beating.  There is more to life than money and fame, and it’s all right here.  Everyone he cares about in the world is right here.

“As a fraud.”

Mike sighs.  “What are you trying to say, Rachel?”

“I’m going to be a lawyer, Mike,” she says, drawing herself up so proud and poised and strong that Mike can hardly bear to look at her.  “I’m going to law school, and I’m going to get a real degree, and then I’m going to be a damn good lawyer.  Maybe even somewhere that doesn’t only hire from Harvard.  And I think it’s time I focused on that.”

“Rachel…”

“It’s not fair, Mike!  I made a mistake, _one_ mistake, and you don’t even listen to my side of the story before going off to ruin your life.  Do you think I want that on my conscience?  Do you think that’s fair punishment?  I can’t…I’m going to be a _lawyer_ , Mike.  And you…”

Mike can’t speak.  He just waits, hardly daring to breathe, while she struggles not to cry.

“I don’t want to be the reason you to jail, one day,” she confesses, unshed tears brimming in her voice.  “And I don’t want to be dragged there with you.”

There’s nothing Mike can say to that.  She’s being reasonable and fair.  Moreover, it’s something they’ve always known to be true, the two of them, even if they never dared to say it outright.  It’s partly why Mike was so set on leaving in the first place, and he wonders now if it didn’t play a twisted role in his eagerness to come back.  Having failed to destroy himself by accepting Forstman’s offer, he was all too eager to light a fuse under the remnants of his relationship with Rachel. 

“I’ll come by on the weekend for the rest of my things.”  His voice sounds tight, emotionless even to his own ears.  More than anything, he just feels resigned.

“Oh—you don’t have to, I can leave.  I should leave.  I’ll—“

Mike shakes his head.  “No, it’s fine.  I’ve got somewhere to stay.”  He doesn’t add _it’ll only remind me of you_ , but he’s sure she hears it anyway. 

“Okay.”  Their positions have been reversed: Rachel now seems off-balance and unsure while Mike is filled with an icy calm.  With a last, worried glance at his face, she stands to leave.

Before she’s out the door, something occurs to Mike.  “Wait, Rachel.  What about your deal with Jessica?”

“Let me worry about Jessica,” she says without looking at him.  But she pauses at the door, one hand resting against the glass, eyes cast down to the floor.  “Goodbye, Mike.”

Mike doesn’t respond.  In the space of a breath, she’s gone.

 

*

 

The rest of the day is one big lost cause, after that.  Mike stays in Harvey’s office mostly because he lacks the will to move, but also because even with Donna gone home the place feels like a sanctuary.  He’s not hiding anymore, not really, but neither can he quite face his own office.  He’d look at the clean desk and the shiny nameplate and the freshly watered plant and all he’d see is how much things have changed, how much he can never go back.

It’s past seven when Harvey returns, despite his early start.  Mike knows he had a client dinner on the itinerary, and hadn’t expected him for another hour at least.

“Client came down with a nasty stomach bug,” Harvey tells him when he asks.  He makes no move toward his desk, seemingly content to loiter near the door.  Mike wonders if he only came back at all because he knew he’d find Mike here.  “I _warned_ him about the oysters.”

Mike winces.  “How bad?”

“Pretty bad, but I didn’t exactly stick around for the gory details.  I’m sure I’ll learn in the morning that it was all my fault.”  Despite this grim summary, Harvey doesn’t look too concerned.  He grins, wide and shark-like.  “So, I heard an interesting rumour about you and Louis…”

Mike groans and flops back on the couch, letting his arm fall across his eyes.  “Oh god, don’t.  The trauma’s too fresh.  Have pity.”

“Scuttlebutt is that you two are the best of friends now.  Did he ask you to the prom, Mike?  Should I be concerned?”

“Oh my god.  If I wake up screaming in the middle of night, it’ll be on you.”

“Well, I don’t know.  Maybe you’ve developed a new appreciation for mudding.  Or for—”

“Seriously, I have plenty of new, horrifying material that I’m all too willing to share.”  Mike lets his arm fall away and sits up a bit, the better to glare.  “Just say the word.”

Harvey’s sporting his most shit-eating grin, and Mike knows this is far from over.  “What’ll it be tonight then?  _Casablanca_?  _Gone With the Wind_?”

“I’m thinking more _Kill Bill_.”

“That’s a little extreme.”

“You sit through the saga of all of Louis’s lost loves and teenaged traumas, and then tell me there’s anything that’s too extreme.”

Harvey appears to consider this for a moment.  “You know, I think I’ll pass.”  He gestures at Mike in a way that manages to encompass not only Mike’s person, but also the case files strewn across the table and chairs, and the night sky through the windows.  “What are you still doing here, anyway?  And what did I tell you about leaving paperwork everywhere?”

Mike heaves himself to his feet reluctantly and starts about gathering the papers together without much care to the order.  “I don’t have a key,” he points out in answer to the first question.

“Oh.”  Harvey pauses.  Mike’s not surprised this little detail hadn’t occurred to him.  He _is_ surprised when Harvey goes digging into his briefcase for his own set of keys and carefully slides a slim, silver one off the ring.  “Here.  I’ll use my spare for now.”

Warily, his case files tucked in a messy clump under his arm, Mike approaches.  He stretches his hand out and Harvey drops the key into it, just like that.  The bit of metal is cool on his palm, gleaming with light like a sliver of hope.  Mike fists his hand around it tightly enough to feel the teeth dig into his skin.

Something strange is happening.  Harvey is close, too close, and Mike feels like he should step back but can’t quite manage it.  There’s still at least a foot of space between them and Mike knows it shouldn’t be weird, that they’ve been closer than this before, but it feels different now.  Maybe it’s because of everything that’s happened recently, maybe it’s because they’re just starting to repair their relationship; Mike doesn’t know.  He doesn’t know what this is, wouldn’t want to give it a name even if he could.

All Mike knows is that it’s just him and Harvey now, in this quiet building in the middle of the glowing New York City night, and Harvey’s eyes look liquid in the dim light.

“Rachel and I are done,” Mike hears himself say.  He doesn’t know why he says it, but Harvey nods as if the abrupt announcement makes sense.

“C’mon Mike,” Harvey says.  “Let’s go home.”

And that…should sound weird, but somehow it doesn’t.  It sounds _right._   Safe, secure.  Like sighting land after being adrift at sea for an age.  Mike clutches the key so hard it hurts.

“Yeah,”  he sighs.  “Let’s go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think writing Louis’s lines took me about as long as the entire first part of this fic. What a jerk. (small disclaimer: i know nothing about chakras. also, the thing about forgiveness is by Ghandi.)


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